


Pantouflarde

by Melba



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: 1st POV, AOT AU, AU, Abuse, Coming of Age, Death, F/F, First POV, Grief, Krista POV, Multi, SNK AU, School, Slice of Life, Substance Abuse, alternative universe, aot - Freeform, snk, ymir christa, ymir krista, yumikuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:43:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4704833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melba/pseuds/Melba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Krista was just 17 when she moved to Trost after her father's death. An avid bookworm since the death, Krista has turned completely in on herself and become the world's most reclusive teen. But eager to make friends and enjoy herself, Krista soon finds herself making mistakes in the form of the school's swim team prodigy; Ymir. And it turns out that too much of a good thing can also be bad.<br/> </p><p>Told from first POV. I suck at summaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! So I decided to stray away from my usual fantasy writing genre and write something more fictional/realistic. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope I manage to regularly update this fic too.

            In the end it was quick. I had only been at school for two hours when a call arrived to tell me that my father had been admitted to hospital. My mother arrived, frighteningly quiet, and drove me home in silence. As I watched the red bricks of the school fade away in the distance, I felt as though my life was ending. But at the same time is just felt like another day. The last few months had been a whirlwind of events, starting in just January with my dad having a seizure. Then before we knew it he was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer a month later. The disease had spread to his spine and lungs, and wouldn't take long to kill him. At first when I heard the news I didn't know how to feel. I spent the next week at school, obsessing over my studies to block out the truth. Like an ostrich burying its head in the sand; I buried mine in books. At home my parents argued; my dad didn't want treatment and kept on running away from hospital whenever he had collapsed or had another seizure due to his tumour. I knew deep down that he was scared, so scared that he wanted to run away and hide from everything and deny the cancer's existence just as I did. He kept on pretending he didn't need treatment; like it was suddenly just disappear one day. In the end though he accepted chemotherapy. Things started to look up again, and he had a lot more energy and his appetite returned. As my dad returned to be more like himself, I relaxed a little. I think we all began to be a little hopeful. We all knew that death was on the cards at some point, but we felt that he would be with us for much longer. I didn't know that as I said goodbye to him that morning, kissing him on his blistered skin that it would be the last time I would see him.

 

            Today was the day he went in to see how his round of chemotherapy had gone. He had been perfectly fine all week; well as fine as someone rapidly deteriorating can be. But as I gazed, glassy eyed out of the car window, I knew that something had gone wrong. My mother tried to explain to me in the car but I blocked it out as I had done before. I failed to believe it. How could he deteriorate so quickly? It seemed to me that hospital was the poison; at home he was fine. He only ever suffered when medical treatment was involved. As mum pulled up at our home we sat in silence in the driveway for a moment. Then, she burst into tears and so did I. We sat for an hour, holding each other and sobbing; we knew this was it. After our bodies were too fatigued and aching to shake with any more tears, we dried our eyes and stepped out of the car. As my mother rushed upstairs to wash her face, I slowly walked to the sofa and lay down. I waited in silence, not thinking or feeling as I waited for her to come down the stairs.

"Your uncle is coming round to look after you", she reapplied her lipstick in the mirror and dabbed concealer over her dark circles.

I grunted.

"Honey, I'm sorry." As she popped her lipstick away the doorbell rang and my uncle rushed in, embracing my mum before she pushed him away quickly. "Don't, I just put make up on and I'll ruin it". She turned away with wet eyes and I stared up at the ceiling.

"Hey there kiddo," my uncle walked over slowly as if approaching a wounded animal. He sat down soft on the sofa next to me. "I'm going to take care of you tonight."

I wanted to talk; to say hi or to cry. But like my emotions, there was some kind of stopper fitted in my voice box, and no words would come out of my mouth. He patted my shoulder and then got up. As he talked in the hallway with my mother in hushed voices I felt my phone buzz.

_Laura:_

_Hey H, I saw u leave school early today. U k?_

I stared at the text on the screen, then hit the hold button and let the phone drop down the back of the sofa cushions. I didn't really have any close friends here, and it was only now that something was going on that they seemed to pay attention and care.

"I'll see you soon honey." My mother left the house, her car starting to rumble in the drive way before slowly backing out. I listened as the tires crunched over the large gravel, softly fading away into the distance as she swung onto the road and drove off to the hospital. After she had left, I found myself drifting off into a sleep on the sofa.

 

            When I woke up my uncle explained everything. That's the thing they never tell you about cancer; what happens when they die. As the tumour pressed against the tissue that controlled his thinking and memory, my dad sunk into sudden dementia. He was violent, had no recognition of anyone and rioted against treatment and drugs. After he had exhausted himself, he slipped into unconsciousness and died. Well, at least that is what I was told by my mother when she returned from hospital the next day after he had died. But somehow I felt his death had been upsetting and disturbing until his very last breath. I still couldn't get a grip over how fast it had happened, and how the tumour had already killed my dad before he had even died. I had lost him that morning when I left for school.

 

 

            After that I returned to school and acted as though nothing had happened. I fought the grief with more work and fake smiles. As I maintained a steady barrage of A+s and A*s in all my work, my mother decided it was time to move.

"To move somewhere with better schools, more people and somewhere we can move on from your father." I kicked the table leg after she told me this and stormed off from dinner; although I quickly calmed down as I knew I had nothing really tying my down to this small town.

 

            As the days lengthened and the thermometer rose, my belongings were placed into boxes, and as we locked the door to our just-sold house one last time I locked the grief over my dad's death deep, deep inside my heart. I felt that if we were moving on, I would have to leave any unsolved emotions behind. Let go of the sadness that collected in the trash can of my soul. There was no point in dwelling now; I had to think of the future and all the things I should do with my own life. And that brings me to where I am now; staring out the window of my mum's car again as we head off to our new life in a city called Trost. I am told that the school there is great, and that it has many extra curricular activities for me to meet new people. I highly doubted that any sophisticated, suburban school kid would want to hang with me, but at least I could join a club to put on my track record and get me into a good college. As I watched the countryside blur into grey motorway, I couldn't help but feel slightly relieved to leave my old town behind. I felt as though I could leave all my pain and sadness behind there.

 

            After a short nap and a quick stop at a service station for dinner, we finally arrived at Trost as dusk settled in. I paid attention now as buildings came into view and blurred past. As we stopped at traffic lights, I noticed the densely packed shops and offices sprawling up from the ground. Looking behind me; I watched the exit to the motorway be swallowed up by the tall metropolis. My mother switched off the radio and scrunched her eyes up as she glared at traffic signs and mumbled under her breath.

"This place sure is difficult to drive in. Bloody one way traffic lanes and tiny side streets." She groaned to me as we rumbled down a tiny street with cars parked either side. I heard in Trost that half the population could speak French, and this was confirmed by the language printed below the English on each and every sign. After finally escaping back onto a main road, my mother got a hang of where she was headed and we relaxed a little back into our seats.

"How big is Trost anyway?" I gingerly pressed the radio buttons and tuned it back into action.

"Oh pretty big. But at least this vast city gets a lot of public funding; the kind of funding that is going to let you exceed the educational expectations of a small country town." I picked at the loose thread on the jumper I wore and I begun to worry about my first day of school. My mother must've felt my anxiety in the silence that followed as she patted my shoulder and smiled. "There, there darling. It's going to be okay. Think of this new town as an adventure". I sighed at this but hung onto her words for comfort and I hugged my knees up to my chest and shut my eyes. The last thing I needed was any more 'adventure'. I had begun to hate the unexpected. I traced over the thick, knitted pattern on my dad's old, burnt orange jumper I'd stolen after his death for the rest of the journey. It was my favourite jumper by far, and it still smelled of him.  Hugging myself into the warmth of the jumper, the gentle hum of the radio and faint bumps of the car soon lulled me into sleep.

 

            When I woke up we had already pulled up on the drive way. My mother had just slammed the car door and was now walking up to the front door. It was a thin tall house, with 3 floors and ivy running up one side of the red brickwork. Our detached neighbours were cut off either side with a thick hedgerow of a variety of trees running far behind me down our long driveway. I rubbed my eyes and looked again at my new fancy home. I guess dad's life insurance had paid out well. The house was different to the country side, although not so different after all. It turns out that living in the suburbs might be okay after all. I put on my navy bomber jacket and drew it around me against the crisp, autumn night air. As I jumped out of the car, my scuffed trainers met a solid brick driveway. Energy jolted back into my sleeping muscles as they moved and stretched about. My uncle had opened the door and was now greeting my mother; a yellow light spilling out onto the driveway in the night. They must've thought I was still asleep because they both went straight in, leaving the door ajar for me. I decided to grab my overnight bag from the car and headed on in. Inside the adults were no where to be seen, although I could hear muffled footsteps upstairs. Remaining in the doorway, I peered curiously around. The interior was rather different from our old house. Instead of a large, open plan space there were many doors instead lined up along a narrow corridor. To the right of the entrance hallway, a staircase wound steeply upwards to where the adults must have gone. There were about 5 doors downstairs and most of them were shut, however the one to the left of the door was open showing a cosy living room. I stepped delicately across the threshold and took my shoes off just as my mother and uncle came down the carpeted stairs.

"Oh darling you're awake! What do you think?" She held her arms out with a proud smile.

"It's okay I guess," I mumbled at the floor before my uncle chuckled and gave me a hug.

"Hey there Chrissy", he patted my back and let go. "you doing okay?" I nodded and was led towards the room at the end of the corridor. "You must be hungry, want a snack?" He opened the door onto a decent sized kitchen. At the end, a glass sliding door led out onto the pitch black garden, and another door to the side must lead to the basement. There were all the essentials, accept that the kitchen was fitted with beautifully dark granite counters and modern equipment.

"Mm, I'm okay actually. I'm sorta tired..." that was a lie, but I was socially tired after spending a whole day in the car with my mother. "Can I just have a glass of water and go to bed please?"

"Of course honey." My uncle begun searching for a glass in the cupboards.

"Want to see your new room, Krista?" My mother smiled and led me out the kitchen and up the steep stairs as I dragged my overnight bag behind me. _Thud, thud, thud, thud_. We didn't stop on the second floor however. I was instructed that there was a bathroom on this floor along with my mother's room, the guest room and a study. My room however was on the very top floor. As we reached the top floor the stairs stopped at an open landing with one door at the end. I walked hesitantly forward at the gentle encouragement of my mother and opened the door onto the area that would be my room. Shock was the first thing that hit me. I had half expected a dusty old, aged room but instead I was greeted with a thick carpeted, clean and well furnished bedroom. I looked back with a surprised face as my mother smiled a knowing smile, leaving me to go back downstairs.

 

            Hurrying in I dropped my bag down on the single bed. The duvet was thick and plush, and the bed itself had a wooden headboard. At the end of the room was a large window and window seat. I scuttled over and kneeled on the seat with my hands and face pressed up against the window. The view was magnificent; I could see all the way down the driveway and onto the road. Across the other side of the road were fields and forest stretching away until they begun to meet some of the city buildings which were twinkling away in the distance.

"Great view isn't it?" My uncle was standing in the door way with the promised glass of water. He placed it on my bedside table and joined me at the window. "This house is almost at the edge of town, and you can see the countryside beginning."

"It's amazing. Thanks for helping mum find it." He patted me on the back.

"No problem kiddo. Now go and get some rest. You have plenty of unpacking to be doing tomorrow." He left me alone as I mumbled something about wanting a break from only just packing up all our belongings. Outside the road was calm and quiet, and I thought of my dad as I lie in my new comfy bed. Somehow, I wished he was here to experience this new life; even if this change was because of his departure. I sighed and began to trace the faint embossed pattern on the cream wall paper. The edges of flowers and fleur-de-lis brushed past my finger tips as they glided over the wall paper. I searched for answers in the floral brail like a blind man but found none. It was hard but I had to remind myself that we left my dad behind in my old town; it was time to stop thinking about him. It was going to be a long week, even with uncle here to help out. And then, after a week of unpacking and tidying I had to start school. My longing for at least a short break was overwhelming now.

 

            My mother was the one who finally woke me up that morning. Being at the top of the house, I had missed all the usual wake up queues of breakfast that my mother normally made. In fact I'd already slept in until 10:30 a.m. Complaining that I was actually on school holiday, I was still rushed to get up and have breakfast. My mother had already made a list of things to go out and buy that my uncle hadn't already (of course he hadn't realise that we actually needed curtains that matched the carpet in a more subtle way and sufficiently floral bed sheets, according to my mother.) She asked me to start unpacking my things that were already moved into the crowded hallway and living room at the front. The moment since I'd woken up the whole house had been in a dizzying rush, and I had only just finished my breakfast when the adults left for the store. A breath of relief found its way out of my lungs as the front door slammed and quiet swept over the house. I sat at the counter for a moment, listening to the gentle hum of the fridge and looking out onto the garden. Realising that I was letting my mind wonder, I gathered up my thoughts in case any painful ones slipped back in and washed up. The idea of unpacking was already tiring, so I carried all my boxes up to my room to make it look like I had already unpacked when really I had hidden half of them in my cupboard. However, I did unpack my wardrobe, as I wanted to plan my school outfits. A sudden desire to stand out a little, instead of playing wall flower again this year had taken place in my mind. Before I left, a school acquaintance had uttered the word 'petite' as I chatted to her in the girls bathroom. The pout of her red lips as she swept sticky gloss over them told me that being short and compact was actually something to be desired. With the word 'petite' in my vocabulary, I was happy that I might actually be able to pull off outfits I'd once considered too childish such as dungarees and oversized sweaters with shorts. Most of my planned outfits however had managed to see my dad's jumpers sneak in. I crammed away half of the fugitive sweaters and jumpers in my already bulging drawers, and decided to replace them with my own shirts. Hanging the outfits up in the dark, oak wardrobe I threw on a pair of faded jeans, blue sneakers and a grey crop top; after all no one was going to see my midriff as I moved and unpacked boxes today.

 

            After a few hours my mother and uncle returned. They wanted to go to the cinema to take a break, however I refused as I wanted to study some French. That was another thing this city had to offer; a new depth to my study. I could now bury my head in French books, each new word pushing out the memories of my father. I felt as though I was burning diseased memories and replacing them with useful things. Ignoring the look of disapproval on my mum's face I dashed up the stairs shouting good bye. Shutting the door I felt relieved to have escaped a social excursion already in our new home. They only meant well, but it stressed me out to think about letting myself go even for a moment. I heard the adults leave again and grabbed my French book. I'd already spent enough of my day in my room, and as the sun was shining I decided a revision session outside would be beneficial.

 

            Spreading my towel on the ground, I placed my lemonade beside me and lay down. The sun was beautifully warm and begun to take action on my skin that hadn't seen the light of the day in a long time. The revision was going well, however a voice disturbed my efforts.

"Yooooo" Sitting up, startled, I self-consciously pulled my arm around my stomach to cover the exposed midriff and looked up at the hedge where the voice had come from. A head had appeared above the thick green, leaves and was smiling down at me. "Hey there newbie."

"Uh hey..." They were standing in front of the sun, the backlight darkening their face. However, I could make out that I was looking at slim, pale boy with shaved sides and a bleached Mohawk. His face glinted with piercings, and one eyebrow had been half shaved off. He chewed gum as he regarded me in return.

"Yo, the name's Jean." He waved at me as I wondered how he could be wearing a leather jacket in this heat. _Jean?_ I wondered if he was one of the French speaking families.

"Hi there. My name's Krista."

"Nice nice. Seems like we're neighbours then. I'm glad there's finally someone young moved into this stupidly big house."

"Uh yeh, although it's just me, my mum and my uncle living here."

"Well, still. Nice to meet you. I live here with my mum and dad."

"An only child as well too?"

"You know it. Besides, there'd be no point in being so punk if it didn't upset my parents so much. They hate to see their only baby's face studded with piercings." He sniggered. "Anyway, I'm going down to the store you want me to show you round the neighbourhood?"

"I don't have a house key yet, maybe some other time?"

"Sure, sure. Stay cool, man." With that he nodded a goodbye and disappear below the hedge; his heavy boots clumping and brushing through the thick grass. I was glad he left quickly; it was easier for me to handle people in short bursts. That hadn't gone too badly, which I guess was good as the kid was my neighbour.

 

            After spending the rest of the day revising in the garden; the adults finally returned with some take out sushi. Gathering in the dining hall, we feasted on the maki and Californian roles. As the youngest, I was allowed first pick, and I quickly hoovered up all the inari and avocado rolls.

"Krista you ate all the good ones!" My mum complained with her chopsticks poised; frowning at the half empty box of sushi.

"You snooze, you lose." My uncle chuckled and quickly pincered a salmon nigiri. After we finished, there wasn't much tidying up to do so I indulged myself and watched T.V. before bed. I insisted on watching the news in French, trying to see if my day had been well spent. Unfortunately I was far from being any good at the language, and could make no sense of what the reporter was saying despite grasping onto any vocabulary I knew that tumbled from the T.V. As I lay in bed after retiring to my room, I wondered if I would see my neighbour again; hoping he'd keep his promised to show me round the neighbourhood before school started. I ran by different excuses to call round his house, and decided baking some brownies would be the best way to go; then I'd even leave a good impression on his parents.  

 

            Employing the use of my phone alarm, I managed to wake up at a decent time that morning and had baked the brownies before 11 a.m. However, I began to worry as I realised that most teenagers probably didn't get up until the afternoon, so instead of calling round the house I waited impatiently by my brownies; sitting and revising next to them at the counter in the kitchen as the smell of gooey, fudgy goods wafted up my nose. As soon as the clock hit 2 p.m I grabbed the container and rushed out the front door.

"I'm just going round the neighbour's!" My mother peered her head curiously round the bathroom door. She had been painting it a slightly more eggshell shade of blue than the original owners had it.

"Going to see people?" She placed her hands on her hips and frowned. "Are you okay, Krista?" I glared back at her.

"I do actually have a life." I hurried down the front steps and up the drive. The hedgerow meant I couldn't run straight to their house, and I found that after running 2 meters I was already tired. Maybe joining a sports team wouldn't be a bad idea. I minced up to the door way and knocked. Like ours, their house was a tall, red brick one. However, where as our own was of modern décor, they had kept their old thick door with it's stained glass window at the top. Beside the door, roses climbed up wooden trellises and there were hanging baskets full of flowers. As I waited for someone to answer, I shut my eyes and breathed in the smell of the flowers as the bees worked about. The door finally clicked open and I was met with a surprised looking blond woman.

"Why hello there, how can I help you dear?" I wasn't prepared for talking with an adult, and other people's parents had always frightened me.

"Um I" I begun to stutter.

"Oh! Are you the girl that owned the bike my son stole?" She huffed and turned to the stairs. "Jean!!" She yelled.

"Oh no! I'm not...that. Um, I'm your new neighbour." The woman looked back down at me and blinked.

"Oh. Yes, of course! Sorry dear, why don't you come on in." She stood aside to let me. Their house had the same layout, however the family had obviously been there for a long time and were quite wealthy, with halls and rooms furnished in dark, expensive furniture that all looked antique.

"I baked some brownies."

"Oh well isn't that lovely!" She hurried me towards the kitchen. "JEAN!" She yelled again. "Do excuse me for a second dear." The mother left me in the kitchen by myself as I stood clutching the box of brownies to my chest. The woman made it half way up the stairs before her disordered son swung his bedroom door open; loud, disconnected music crowding out behind him.

"J'arrive, J'arrive!". Finally the two of them made it into the kitchen.

"Sorry to make you wait, this is my son, Jean." He was dressed in a ripped t-shirt and jeans this time today. He hollered at me and scratched an ear.

"Hey, I met you yesterday."

"Did you? You didn't tell me you'd already met this lovely young lady."

"Yeah well not like you care anyway." The mother pressed her lips together.

"Well, my name is Geezer." She tried to place her thin, worn out lips into a welcoming smile. However it appeared as more of a grimace.

"Nice to meet you, Geezer."

"Well, I'll let you two kids get on then. I have work to do." She left the two of us alone in the kitchen, me still clutching my brownies and Jean standing arms folded.

"So you bought some food?" He looked intently at the box.

"Oh, yes. I bought brownies."

"Brownies?" He looked shocked. "I didn't think you were _that_ cool." I frowned; a little confused. "Oh wait, these are actually just brownies. My bad." I gave him the box which he placed on the counter. "So, you settling in okay?"

"I guess." I scratched my arm. "All I've been doing is unpacking."

"And reading. All you did was read all day."

"You were watching me?"

"I can see your garden from my window." I glared at him.

"You better not perve at me any more."

"Whatever, man. You wanna see the town then?" I picked at some imaginary skin around my fingernails; not quite ready yet to release myself into the real world. But I did need to get acquainted with the city, and get used to people so that school didn't come as such a shock.

"Sure, why not". I shrugged and followed him out the house. He got into the small, pastel fiat round the front. I stared for a moment at the car.

"Are you coming or not?" He called out the window as the engine sputtered into action. I hopped into the passenger seat and clicked the seat belt in place.

"A pastel car for a punk eh?" I grinned. He glared at me and then turned to look out the back window and reverse.

"Whatevs man, I can't afford my own car. Got to borrow my mum's." Maybe his parents had cut his allowance due to his fashion choice. "So you drive?"

"No not yet. I guess I'm more of a book worm so I don't go out much."

"Yeh I know that already. Well, you might want a car round here, there's not many buses. But I can always give you a lift if ya need."

"Thanks." I settled a little into the seat; I guess making friends wasn't too bad after all.

 

            We parked up in one of the multi story car parks and walked up to a an overwhelmingly tall, grey building.

"So this is the mall, it's pretty much got everything; cinema, food, bars, clubs and shopping."

"Woah." I looked up towards the top of the building. "It's so big."

"Okay country bumpkin, time to see some real stuff." He continued on past the store and down one of the streets. We spent about 10 minutes turning down street after street, when finally, deep into the heart of the city maze we stopped in front of a small café. It was cosy looking, and had plush sofas and low, heavy wooden tables. There weren't that many people around thankfully; only a few students with laptops and a group of young teens chatting excitedly at a table in one corner. Jean beckoned me in and I followed him up to the counter. My vision was met with a glass cabinet full of tasty patisseries and cakes. There was no one at the counter, so Jean hit the bell on top.

There was a hurried clamour and a dark skinned boy tumbled out of a door behind the counter. He steadied himself on the counter and looked up ready to apologize to the customers.

"Hey there mon cherie." Jean leant forward and pecked the boy on the mouth. I watched as the boy's dark skin blushed a deep red, highlighting the freckles that were sprinkled across his nose and cheeks. The punk turned back to me, "Yo chica, this is my boyfriend Marco." A hand remained placed on the back of the barista's neck.

"Um, nice to meet you." I blushed. The boy turned to me and smiled embarrassed, still bright red. I was glad I wasn't the only one.

"Hi chica, nice to meet you."

"Oh, my name isn't actually chica..." He hurried an apology. "It's okay, please don't worry. My name is Krista." I shook his hand as he smiled, returning back to his normal complexion.

"Krista. Well I'm Marco, of course. Hey, let me make you guys some coffee. Do you want anything from the cabinet?"

"Get us two slices of chocolate cake" Jean flashed a smile and Marco set off to get the drinks together. I followed the punk to the table, choosing a nice comfy, sofa near the shop's front window. It wasn't too long before the freckled boy rushed over with two wobbling cups of coffee and a few plates of cake. He took up a stool next to us and held the coffee mug in his hand, smiling as he breathed in the steam rising from the hot liquid.

"So, you are new here then, Krista?"

"Yep. I moved in a few days ago into the house next to Jean's."

"Yeah and all the fucking nerd has done since she got here is study."

"Jean, that's rude!" The punk laughed at his boyfriend.

"It's true though. At least I managed to drag your ass into town today."

"I know. I'm glad you're showing me the town." I was trying my hardest not to blush but the steam from the coffee wasn't helping, and I was pretty sure I had already turned a tomato red.

"What do you think of Trost then?" Marco leaned forward.

"Well it's okay I guess. I mean I've not really seen the town yet."

"That'll come in good time."

"Mm."

"So why did you move over here?" I froze a little at this question. Was I supposed to be open with my new friends? After all the question as to why I had no father would come up sooner or later.

"Uh well my dad died. So we decided to move somewhere with better schools for a new start and all that..."

"Oh I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

"No, don't worry about it." I smiled into my coffee cup, the dark ripples reflecting the muddled, white of my face.

"I guess you're going to the Corps Academy?"

"Corps? Yeh I think that's the one."

"Me and Jean both go there too. You should join our club."

"What club is it?" This was great. I'd only just met these two guys and yet here I was being invited to join their club. But before I could find out, Jean intervened and slammed his palms down on the coffee table causing the rest of us to jump.

"Hey, leave a little bit of fun. It's a secret, and so you'll just have to come along to the club fair and find out." As he grinned at me my phone started to ring, the harsh tone breaking through the comforting, café atmosphere I had settled into.

 _Peep peep peep peep_. It was my mother.

"Sorry, I better take this."

 

            After about 10 minutes of arguing where I was, I gave into my mother's orders to come home and help her do chores. Despite wanting me to socialise, she obviously wasn't that bothered about it. Jean took me home after some persuasion; reluctant to leave his boyfriend after only seeing him for less than an hour. However, Marco said that this meant I would have to come back again before school started next week to make up for my sudden exit. I liked this idea. At home I was greeted by my mother buzzing about as she vacuumed the downstairs, and I set to the chores that were usually assigned to myself.

 

            It wasn't until dinner time that we finished tidying, at which point my mum had tired herself out and reached for the phone instead of the fridge.

"Hello? Is this Hanne's pizza? Yes I'd like to order-" Her voice slipped away as I laid back on the sofa and shut my eyes. The day's events had tired my body out, and I felt all my muscles and joints suddenly aching in a dull symphony of pain. My mind began to wonder, but not to the usual suspect. Instead I thought about my neighbour and his boyfriend, and the other great people I might get to meet at school. However, my wondering was interrupted by my mother's shrill voice.

"-shoes off the sofa, young lady! Oh, and what would you like on your pizza, dear?"

"mushrooms please." I slipped my trainers off of my slightly swollen feet and ran upstairs to change into my pyjamas. Sometimes I actually enjoyed these kinds of lazy nights in with my mother; watching a film in PJs with pizza. After my father had died, we'd actually spent more time together than we ever had. I guess it made us realise how much we needed each other, and we stopped taking each other for granted. As we ate our pizza that night I looked at my illuminated by the fluorescent light of the TV. I could see the soft, oval outline of her face, and the traces of beauty she held in her youth. But I soon begun to notice the crows feet at the corners of her eyes, and the lines on her forehead above her eyebrows when she frowned or laughed at the film. I quickly turned away and let my existential mind be distracted by the flickering pictures on the screen instead.


	2. Walled Garden

      The next morning I woke up with a stabbing pain in my belly. I crouched over and clutched as muscles of my abdomen writhed around with a dull pain that radiated all over my torso. I wasn't meant to be due for another week, but obviously my uterus had decided otherwise. After a little pain subsided I got up and dragged myself to my mother's bedroom where I flopped down onto her plush duvet.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" My mother was sitting up and reading a book.

"I've got my period." I moaned and clutched my stomach. My mother put down her book and reached over to rub my back.

"Aw my poor baby. Does it hurt a lot?"

"Yes!! Do you have any pain killers?"

"I'm afraid not; I guess I didn't think to buy any new ones since we moved in. I'll go to the drug store across the road."

"But aren't you meant to be meeting uncle in an hour?" My mother looked at her alarm clock and jumped.

"Oh my goodness, you're right! Well, he won't mind waiting."

"It's okay mum, I'll go. Exercise is meant to be good anyway."

"Are you sure," she stuck out her bottom lip.

"Yeah, don't worry." I said as cheerfully as I could, rolling off the bed and shuffling back to my room; not wanting to admit to all the junk food I wanted to buy at the drug store too. The sacrificial sugar demands of the uterus are high during the certain time of the month.

 

      I flopped back up the stairs to my attic room and lay on the floor, rubbing my belly. It was going to be a pain dragging my ass to the store, but I encouraged myself with the promise of chocolate ice cream and bread. As I got dressed and opened my curtains I could see Jean speed away in his car, wondering if he was going to see his boyfriend. I decided that I should probably go and see Marco again before school, although I had no idea how to actually get to that small café. My mother called my thoughts away at the door and I grabbed my rucksack and headed on down, grateful for a lift to the store despite the fact that it was only a two minute walk away. After dropping me at the drug store, its garish neon lighting sleeping during the daylight, I shuffled into the store and welcomed the cool air con that blasted my face. It was quite hot and humid in Trost, ruining my fashion style that almost always included denim. Of course today though, fashion was not something that concerned me; as I browsed the aisles in my navy jogging bottoms and an oversized grey sweater that had belonged to my dad. That was something I had always loved about him. My mother was a woman, but was often shy to speak about her bodily functions. It was my dad who had to run to the store in the morning when my period arrived to grab me some sanitary towels. He always returned, un-embarrassed and usually with a bar of chocolate too. I wrapped the arms of the sweater around me and shuffled on in my flip flops as my whole body hurt enough without remembering fond memories of my dead father. I chucked some towels, tampons and pain killers into the basket then headed for the snack section. This was my favourite part. There was always something exciting about picking a snack for when I felt like this. Would the hormones be soothed by strawberry, mint or honeycomb chocolate today? I decided on a hazelnut chocolate bar, adding a pint of ice cream to go with it. Heading for the cashier standing idle, I noticed that I was about to be served by a very grumpy girl. She must have been my age, and was obviously very bitter about having to work on a Sunday. Her blue eyes scowled at me underneath light, blonde eyebrows. I unpacked my basket and watched the cashier scan everything through slowly. She raised an eyebrow at my goods; the dark eye bags that stained the delicate skin under her eyes moving with the rest of her face.

"That'll be 10.60 please", she held a limp hand out and rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. I delicately placed the change in her hand and grabbed the receipt and bag; eager to get away from her and back home to lie on my bed all day. Making a break down the lane, a feeling of relief swept over me to be away from the cashier. Returning home, I did just as I had planned and indulged my laziness. It was a long day, but I welcomed it. I was in too much physical pain to be touched by any emotional one, and so I could relax fully without the fear of memories of my father dangerously tip toeing back in too often. Once the painkillers were down with a bar of chocolate and half a pint of ice cream, my uterus was satisfied and stopped the stabbing pain. However, the hormones meant that I ended up sobbing my way through several Disney films, raising questions from my uncle and mother when they arrived home.

"Are you sure you're alright, Krissy?" My uncle stuck a worried head around my door.

"You've lived with mum all this time. You know how she gets too. I'm just like her."

"I know, it's just that..." He looked at the carpet for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders, returning to look at me. "We just worry about you, that's all." I started to laugh at him, deep, forceful laughs that hurt my diaphragm as I pushed them out.

"I'd rather you not get all serious and soppy on me."

"Oops, sorry love. You've already got one mother, don't need two now!" He chuckled and backed out of the doorway, letting it fall shut softly. I returned my face to my laptop and hit play on Lilo & Stitch. Although a kids film, it made me sob my eyes out each time I watched it. I'd always put it down to the time of the month, as that's when I itched to watch Disney movies. However, I noticed that the moment I cried was the moment the blue alien clutched the child's picture book to his chest, echoing out the word 'lost' into the empty forest as he desperately awaits for a release from his loneliness. Each time that scene played I felt my heart well up inside my throat, my breath quickening as I knew I was going to start crying. Luckily for Stitch, his family was right round the corner, ready to save him and adopt him. Whenever I felt lost, my father never returned to comfort me.

 

      I woke suddenly the next morning as the front door slammed. Snorting, my legs jumped into action and up from the bed as I  realised I must've fallen asleep whilst watching films, and had slept for around 14 hours. It was already 11:30 in the morning, and the sun had been shining his proud face to the world for a while now. A quick check of the weather forecast told me that it would reach 31 degrees that day with 98% humidity; so anything thicker than cotton was out of the question. I decided to throw on a red, floral dress and a scuffed up pair of black docs, slapping sun cream on my fair skin as if that would make a difference to whether it got burned or not. As the weather was behaving itself, I decided to head into town for the day as there were only two days left before school. It was probably a good idea to get some stationary and an organiser so I could keep tabs on my hopefully busy school and social life. It didn't take long to get into town on the bus, although it had taken me about half an hour to find the bus stop in the dizzying, suburban maze of middle-class housing. A lot of the area was built with the strange looking new homes; their colourful, immaculate bricks making them look like toy houses. I was very grateful for the fact my mother had picked one of the more older dwellings in the area that had been worn by time and weather to make it look like a real home. The city centre was also new, however more thought had been put into it. The buildings were a mixture of modern new and European old and they managed to work together and achieve harmony. Although a few buildings had been built 20 years ago, where they were too new to have money spent on gorgeous bricks, and not new enough to benefit from modern architecture and aesthetic, were pretty damn ugly. One of the these was the mall I had seen the other day, and it stuck out like a large, ugly sore thumb in the middle of Trost's shopping centre. Still, the inside held the key to a capitalist heaven and I went in to spend money on things I didn't really need; expensive pens, colourful folders, fashion magazines so thick you could use them as doorstops and beautifully bound journals that were dying to be filled with memoires. When I left the shopping centre, my backpack was much heavier and my purse much lighter. Still, I didn't usually spend too much money anyway being such a recluse. As I trudged along the street with my heavy rucksack, I decided to look for a cute, French boutique I'd read about in the tourist guide. Pulling out a paper map, I followed the complex scribble of coloured lines to what should have been the shop. However, the colours and directions mislead my brain and I ended up completely lost. Spinning around, I was surrounded by nothing but a concrete maze of streets that had no end. Panicking, my feet picked up the pace to try and return to where they had originally came from. But brain had not actually bothered to record this important information, and didn't know if we had come from the North, East, South or West. In the end, I had to stop, out of breath, down a small side street. Looking up, my panic faded as I recognised the sign above me. Underneath the familiar 'Truck Store' sign was the clear, large glass window of the café that Marco worked in. Rushing in, I managed to bump into two customers who were leaving. They uttered a French 'Pardon' as I hurried past them to the counter, hoping that Jean's boyfriend was working. To my relief he was, and I watched him blush underneath his freckles as he served the customers waiting there. Once they had been served I edged over.

"Hi, Marco." I waved a hand at him.

"Oh hey. I met you just the other day! You're um..You're.." He scratched his thick, dark hair and frowned with his thick brows. "Oh I'm so sorry I forgot your name."

"Don't worry about it! You must meet lots of new people working here everyday." My face joined him in blushing; it was embarrassed to be confirmed that yes I really did have a forgettable face. There was nothing special about me; I obviously still had a lot of changing to do from my old wallflower self. "It's Krista."

"Krista! Right of course." He said finally smiling. "Here, why don't you have some of today's special on the house."

"Sure." The words 'vegetable soup' were written in chalk on the board above the counter, and my stomach also eagerly agreed that it was time to eat something for lunch. "Can I also get an Americano to drink too, please?"

"Sure thing, you go and pick somewhere to sit. It's about time I went on my lunch break anyway." I watched as he poked a head through the door behind the counter to the stock room.

"Hey Eren! Time to get back to work." As I turned away to choose my seat (the same sofa by the window to look out), there was a rumbling sound followed by a lot of cursing and crashing as someone came out of the stock room. "Careful how you go." I looked back around to see Marco quickly picking up a mop and a load of boxes that had fallen over at the arrival of the other barista. It was a boy who looked around our age with short brown hair and shaky hands. My eyes couldn't help but see that he looked rather nervous though; not the same finicky nervousness that the other barista had, but a more deep seated and ominous one that echoed out. It was more akin to fear. I wondered what he had to be afraid of, after all Marco did not seem like the one to snitch to the boss about your poor work. The boy noticed that I was staring at him and glared at me until I turned away and pretended to look out the window. Thankfully, Marco was quick and had delivered two bowls of warm, steaming soup and home made seeded bread rolls before I grew awkward sitting by myself at the window. 

 

      The soup and coffee were both delicious. They both had a warm, earthy taste of fresh, whole ingredients. The soup was maybe not a good idea on a hot day however, and I felt myself go red as my body temperature heated up with the soup.

"I'm surprised you managed to find your way back to this café,"

"Well, I didn't really find my way as opposed to lost my way."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. I got lost, but in a convenient place at least!"

"Quite a lot of our customers are lost; they come here for food, coffee and a map to make it back to civilisation". He laughed and wiped some soup from the corner of his mouth.

"Well, at least I'm not the only one." We both finished up our soup.

"So, are you ready for school on Wednesday?"

"Ready for school? Is anyone ever ready?"

"Perhaps not." He smiled. "But, here in Trost it's alright. And we get Wednesday afternoons off as well."

"Sweet. So the first day of school is a half day?"

"Well not quite." Marco took a sip of his frothy latte and considered for a second, flecks of white cream sitting on his dark upper lip. He wiped it away with a sleeve. "There's the _optional_ club fair in the afternoon."

" _Optional_?"

" _Optional_." We laughed together. "Which means you better go unless you have a darn good reason not to. The school is pretty serious about extra curricular activities."

"So what do you do?"

"Ah, you'll find out tomorrow."

"Can't you just tell me?" I whined.

"No it's more exciting that way." We chatted for a little bit more after that before Marco had to go back to work at the counter. Gathering up my things and examining a map given to me by the angry looking boy, I headed back out onto the streets. By the time I'd found my way to the bus station and from the bus stop back home I was exhausted. However, I returned to an excited mother opening the door.

"Someone's here for you darling!" She smiled and pulled me inside. "He's...interesting, but he says he lives next door."

"Oh yeah, that'll be Jean."

"Wesh", Jean raised a heavy hand laden with thick, black metal rings as I walked into the kitchen.

"Jean! You're in my kitchen."

"Yes...Is there a problem?"

"Oh no!" I begun to stutter and tripped into the room. "I just didn't think people actually wanted to knock for me."

" I thought I'd grace you with my presence." As he smirked, his skin creased where they met his cheek piercings. My mother had wondered off into the living room now, and the TV blared into action. I put down my heavy rucksack onto a stool by the counter. The punk eyed up the bulging bag.  

"So you up to much this evening?"

"No not really. I just got back from town. Your boyfriend says Hi."

"Marco?"

"Uh, yeh. Who else?" He looked away for a second; was there something he was hiding? "You better watch out though, he'll make you fat with all that free cake."

"Ha that cake is so good I could never refuse a free slice."

"Anyway, you wanna see the local park? It's alright," he shrugged his shoulders underneath the studded black, leather jacket.

"Yeh, I guess."

" _Yeh I guess"_ he flicked an imaginary strand of hair, trying to imitate me.

"Okay okay. Let's go!!" I ran to the hallway and shoved my feet back in their trainers. Jean followed me out the door and led me down the road until we got about half way. The road that led to the houses was lined either side with tall trees, but a break showed a gate that we ended up vaulting over. We soon came to a path that led through a thicket of fur trees. The air was full with the fresh smell of their plump, waxy needles.

"Down here." Jean skidded down a small bank through the trees and onto a gravel path that ran beside the forest. As my feet met the gravel, my eyes met the open space of the park. People were out walking their dogs before the sun set; Frisbees and tennis balls flying left and right across the park. The path itself skirted around the edge of the field that faced us and disappeared off into the trees. As we headed into the trees onto the other side of the park, we were met with a group of older boys who loomed forwards. I felt my body freeze up as we walked past them; ready for the insults they'd shout at me. _Slag, slut, whore, pussy._ These were just a few of the names that boys round my area decided to regurgitate whenever they passed a female.

"Fucking emo." One shouted as we walked by. Another spat at Jeans boots.

"Creeper." They all laughed at us. Trying to play cool and ignore them, I walked onwards. But I noticed that Jean had already stopped.

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" He stood cracking his knuckles; ready for a fight.

"What you fucking say?" The biggest of the five squared up to the punk and looked down.

"Oh did I _touch_ a nerve? Sorry I didn't mean to expose your secret." Jean made a fake 'oops' face before the thug punched him square in the nose.

"Jean!" I dashed over and grabbed him by the shoulders.

"You fucking idiot. What the fuck you do that for?" Despite my fear, I found myself screaming the words into the guy's face.

"As far as I remember, he insulted us, _Princess_." The word cut through my body like a sharp knife. I heard a loud crack, and before I realised it I'd punched the thug right back in his face. He cried out and put a hand over his nose as a gush of blood began to pour down. Pulling Jean up, we both made a run for it, hoping that the thugs wouldn't chase us. To our dismay, they weren't having any of it and followed us hot on our tail. My legs were beginning to tire when the punk grabbed my hand and made a sharp turn to the right. Heading deep into the trees we finally came to a brick wall where Jean signalled to go over it. He gave me a leg up, and luckily my arms were strong enough to pull him up and over with me. As our legs hit the floor on the other side of the wall, we stayed silent and pressed our backs against it. Waiting, panting in anticipation, the thug's footsteps became louder and louder. To my surprise, they thundered past; obviously not seeing that we had managed to climb over the wall. Breathing a sigh of relief and finally catching my breath I had the chance to see where we had climbed into.

"This is the parks walled garden." My new friend nodded towards the space contained within the walls.

 

      The walled garden was like something out of a fairy tale. Its high brick walls were patterned with climbing ivy and clematis. The purple of the flowers glinted between the green leaves of the ivy where the sun splashed dappled twilight beams on them. The actual garden itself was long and narrow; giving one the opportunity to gracefully wander up and down the herbs, shrubs and flowers whilst one chatted or even read a book. We managed to dust ourselves off and stand up on still trembling limbs. The commotion of our arrival had caused a small man in the hut by the tall, iron entrance gate to hurry over.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, sorry about that." Jean laughed nervously. He followed the man over to the hut, which I realised served ice cream.

"It's from the local cows; and it's fucking amazing." We ordered our ice cream in cones and sat down at a bench that faced a line of lavender shrubs. We sat in silent contemplation; a much welcomed quiet moment after the ruckus we'd just been through. I smiled on inside, enjoying the fluffy bumblebees as they buzzed about doing their work.

"So school starts soon." My friend had already finished his ice cream, and was busy licking the drops that had melted onto his hand. He sighed as he realised the mixture of saliva and sugary ice cream just made the stickiness worse, and resigned himself to sitting with his sticky hands crossed firmly with his arms where they wouldn't get stuck on his leather jacket. I took another lick of my mint choc-chip and kept watching the bees.

"That thing..."

"Come on now, it's not so bad."

"I know."

"Aren't you even a little excited?" I wondered if I was. It was hard to feel anything after my father's death, but the few days since I'd moved to Trost it felt as though I was waking up inside. Just a little. A very dull warmth fizzed slightly in my heart as I thought of the people I'd meet at school, and all the new things I would be able to do in the city.

"I guess I am a little excited." I finally smiled.

"Good! Because I'd be kinda offended if you weren't excited to go to a school with us cool kids." He shot a cheesy grin at me.

"You know it."

"Either way, if you want something exciting to do _before_ school starts and meet the rest of the gang, then maybe you'd like to come out with us tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow night?" I stuttered. "You mean the night before school?"

"Sure. Are you afraid to go out on a school night, Krista?"

"No! Of course not. I'm game." My teeth made a loud crunching sound as I finally bit into the waffle cone; the gorgeous, deep caramel flavour melted with the sugar on my tongue. Inside my heart was beating fast; not from the sugar but at the anticipation of doing something that the old me would have considered to be 'wild'. "I can't wait. Where are you guys going anyway?"

"Probably head to one of the main clubs in town. There's one with five floors; each with different music. Tuesday night is the only night they do good music though; the rest of the week it's all trashy pop and club bangers."

"Oh." I nodded my head like I knew what he was talking about.

"Anyway, I'll text you the details tomorrow. But, Kris." He looked at me and frowned. "Do you have anything to wear out?"

"Well sure-"

"I mean like, cool clothes." My mouth opened wide and I smacked him on the arm. He laughed at my reaction. "Cool it, kiddo. I'm just kidding. Wear what you want, when you've seen the rest of us you'll know that we don't really all conform to what people might call 'normal'."

"Wow, so I'm hanging out with a bunch of massive, fucking hipsters." Now it was his turn to smack me on the arm.

"You're funny Kris."

"Am I?"

"Yeah, funny as in you make me laugh. But you do this weird thing too."

"What weird thing?" I began to panic at the thought that my un-cool side was beginning to show.

"Sometimes you're really shy, closed off and serious. Then you relax and become this fun, happy girl."

"Oh." My brain wasn't really sure what to say; after all I'd never had any close friends so no one other than my mother or uncle had ever really cared about me.

"I hope I'll see more of fun Krista." I nodded in agreement. After we returned home, I opened up one of my new journals and wrote in pen on the very first page, 'burn the wallflowers'. As I looked on the page, I took an orange crayon out and scribbled over the whole page; creating a child like look. However, the colouring in itself looked reckless, exciting and haphazard; just what I wanted to become. That night I slept with the journal underneath my pillow hoping it would imprint my goal onto my brain.

The next day was rushed about. I ran up and down the stairs in a breathless Olympics of packing and prepping for school whilst texting Jean and Marco about going out that night. My excuse was easy to plan; the outfit not so much. After an hour of deciding and throwing outfits about my room, I had to spend another cleaning it all up and rushing dinner in order to get to Jean's on time.

"Have fun at that new gelato place honey. I hope you make some new friends before you start your _hectic_ day tomorrow." I planted a quick kiss on her cheek as I dashed past her in a black skirt, thigh-highs with tights, a crop top and my blue Nikes on. She regarded me with slight suspicion. "Don't stay out too late now. At least you have your own door key now, but please be quiet as I've got to get up early for work."

"Don't worry!" I shot her my reassuring daughter smile; sometimes it paid off to be a quiet child. As soon as I arrived next door I rushed upstairs to find Jean sitting on his bedroom carpet, cross-legged in front of a mirror and surrounded by an arsonry of hair styling products.

"Yo Kris, looking good!"

"Thanks," I whipped a makeup bag out of my rucksack and began to rummage around for the products I needed. Plastic eyeliner tubes, mascara tubes and foundation bottles tapped together until I found the right ones. In my friend's bathroom I began to apply my mask; deciding to go for a sexy yet slightly gothic look that night in a hope to stand out. Two smoky eyes and decently lined and glossed red lips later, I emerged to find Jean still gelling his hair.

"Being a punk must be hard work huh?"

"You fucking know it, chérie" He worked more product into his hair as I surveyed his room. It certainly was a punk's room. Almost every inch of the wall was plastered with different posters of punk bands; Sex-Pistols, Kid-Dynamite, The Clash and many I couldn't recognize. Although his room was tidy, every free space was covered with some kind of hair gel product, accessory, guitar pick, magazine and other odds and ends. As I got to the window I noticed a poster of some four unamused looking women.

"You know that band?" Jean was now doing his eyebrows and spoke with a tube of eyebrow mascara in his mouth.

"No idea, but they look pretty cool."

"You bet your fucking ass they're cool." He got up and began searching in his desk draw; pulling out a small cassette tape. He chucked it at me, where it slipped down my front and onto the floor with a loud clatter. The punk cursed and winced his half done eyebrows.

"Sorry sorry!" I faffed about trying to pick the tape up. "Bi-ki-ni Kill." I looked down at the blank tape with one word written across the label.

"That's their name. Anyways give it a listen and tell me what you think."

"But what am I meant to do with a tape? I don't have a player for it." I looked down at the piece of plastic in my hand, realising I was holding a whole album of some band's work in my hands with no way of listening to it.

"Then get one. You can buy one at the second hand store or something."

"Okay." I put the tape into my rucksack which I was to leave at Jean's, then collect on my way back as I snuck in. Hopefully it wouldn't be too late when we returned; optimistic that we would be back by midnight. But oh how I was so wrong.

 

      "Hey there, minou!" Marco turned to me as he pulled away from his boyfriend's embrace. The two of them stood close together, and I figured they probably wanted to be left alone. Getting into the club had been easy. As it was alternative music night, nobody really cared about who came as the usual kids who tried to sneak in didn't care for metal, punk, rock, grunge or witch house. The bouncer had waved us in without even asking for ID. 'Trost privileges' as Jean had told me. Apparently a lot of the bouncers didn't speak any French and didn't want the hassle of arguing with the French-only speaking kids. 

"Hi Marco! Good to see you. Are you having fun?" I was forced to move down the corridor as a steady stream of people flowed past me.

"You bet!" He grinned, wide eyed at me. I noticed his face looked a little strange; his eyes and smile making him appear a little like a Cheshire cat.

"Well I'm just going to go and get a drink." Pointing towards the bar, I excused myself and slipped off into the crowd and left the couple to themselves. Around the actual bar it was densely packed with impatient party-goers waiting for their drinks. Instead of firmly pushing my way forward, I used my _invisi-tactics_ and darted through any gaps or open space until I had emerged stealthily to the front of the crowd. No one had noticed me push to the front in my wall-flower way, and so everyone had just supposed I was already there. Placing my arms and sequin purse on the bar whilst carefully avoiding the split drinks, I looked left and right at the people crowded round. There were only two bartenders for the night, and they were frantically trying to keep up with people's orders; their arms working magic as they effortlessly whipped up drinks in a few seconds. Finally the bartender took noticed my existence after waving manically at him and he took my order; serving me a tequila sunrise before I had the chance to even count out my change. Receiving a handful of sticky coins in return, I shoved them into my purse and took my drink to look for Jean and Marco. Looking around I spotted the freckled one by a table of people. As I didn't really know him, I tried to search for Jean; but he was no where to be found. Assuming he had gone to go dance, I took the plunge and headed to Marco's table.

"Krista!" There was that big smile again. I noticed a small sheen of sweat on his forehead - though it wasn't that hot in here. Shuffling onto the edge of the corner seat, I was introduced to the people at the table. The names were already forgotten as soon as they were told, however I found myself chatting to a brunette girl who seemed a little timid just like me. Obviously both of us were not quite the party animals unlike the others, and found comfort in talking about school and study. All the people on the table were students at the same school as me, so I tried my hardest to chat to each of them. However, Marco kept interrupting me with excited, disjointed chatter until he pulled me up to go dance as he couldn't sit still. As I was kidnapped and taken to the dance floor, I grabbed the other quiet girl's arm and took her with me.

"We go down together!" My voice box strained as I shouted to be heard above the music.

"I don't really dance."

"It's okay, nobody here is sober!" The three of us pulled shapes around the dance floor, not caring for the other drunk young people there. After all, I'd probably never see them again.

 

      Half way through one of the songs, the quiet girl pull at my arm. Marco had already disappeared off somewhere, and the girl was signalling to go upstairs. We arrived at a floor with the most bizarre but amazing mix of techno and electronic I'd ever heard. Most of the music sounded like teenage girls crying into synthesisers whilst pressing random noise keys on a keyboard, but for some reason the waves of music resonated through my brain and I found myself getting lost in the music. In the end I got so carried away that I hadn't realised that my new friend had disappeared somewhere as well. Embarrassed, I shuffled away to the bar on that floor. Acquiring another drink, I sat and sipped it whilst I watched people dance and shuffle to the music. The dance floor was pretty small, but the crowd was well lit with mellow lighting and wild intermissions of strobe lighting.

"Kris there you are!" Jean tapped me on the shoulder as he scooted up beside me at the bar. "Having a good night?"

"Yeah, it's been pretty great actually." He pulled a sad face. "What?"

"Oh you're so sober it hurts!"

"We have school tomorrow!" I shouted at him above the music. But he wasn't listening, and had ordered 8 tequila shots before I could argue.

"Four for you, and four for me." He smiled and pushed forward four small shot glasses. As the small holders of liquor trembled towards me, I looked at them in horror.

"I can't do that." I stuttered.

"Why not? Are you afraid to live a little?" Jean was right; wasn't I meant to be taking a few more risks? Being a little more wild?

"Fuck it!" I grabbed the lime from the bartender and downed a shot. My face scrunched up as the bitter liquor hit my practically virgin tongue. The punk snorted with laughter, and down two shots consecutively.

"Come on, let's do one together." He urged me on and poured some salt on the back of my hand. I quickly lapped up the salt and downed a shot with the lime; my face managing to keep a little composure as my tongue was already saturated with alcohol. It took me another five minutes, but the other two shots managed to make their way down my throat. By the last shot I already felt the warmth and haze of the alcohol hitting my system. I let Jean pull me along to the dance floor where the music gradually became louder and hazier, melting into my brain as the alcohol took away my inhibitions and let me enjoy the music fully. After a while, the punk left me to go find Marco. However, 4-tequila-shots-later-Krista had decided that dancing by herself wasn't such a bad idea, and was comfortable stepping to the witch house jutting out of the sound system without any friends. Happily swaying to a tranquil beat, the strobe lights blinked on and distorted my sense of time. With each blink the crowd moved as in slow motion. I joined in, experimenting with my body, gliding a hand through the air to watch it sail by slowly. As my hand finished its movement, my eyes caught a glimpse of a girl moving through the crowd. Each strobe of light revealed something new about her to me. _1_ \- she was tall, and her skin was smooth and dark. _2_ \- her glossy hair was pulled Dutch braid. Wispy strands that floated around her face wanted me to touch their softness _3_ \- her smoky eye was effortless -unlike mine- and her features were so delicate. With the 4th flash, I watched her elegant body sway through the crowd and disappear. Wanting to know who she was, my legs tried to follow her down the stairs, but the strobe lights slowed everything down, and my drunk brain decided to walk slowly with the lighting to the stairs. By the time I had stumbled down to the first floor the girl was no where to be seen. Bumping into the group again, we exchanged excited chatter; happy to be reunited. This called for more drinks, and I ended up downing a few more shots; blurring the rest of the night into a pleasant but forgettable haze.


	3. Rebel Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the woes of a gay, grounded girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I'm just going to pretend this didn't take me a year to write 2 pages, then about 4 days to write the rest.

            It's lunchtime; the end of the first school day. I'm already sat in the Principle's office; already messed something up. The principle paces up and down behind his desk and it's hard to tell whether he really cares or not. I settle with 'not', after he opens his mouth.

"You are a grade A student, Ms.Reiss. Yet you've already messed up on the first day." He stopped and looked at me under his bushy, old brows; waiting for a reply which I quickly calculated in my head to be the best possible answer to show that I regretted my action and would get over it and carry on being a star pupil.

"I'm sorry, Mr.Brown." my fingers found themselves twisting the ends of my sleeves as Cortisol shook through my veins. The truth is, I wasn't sorry at all. The night before had filled me with more life than I'd felt in a while, and now I had been sentenced to the principle's office which ushered out the small fragments of happiness I had grappled at last night.

"Underage drinking and missing important orientation at school? You're in a lot of trouble, missy." I stared at the plush carpet of the Principle's office and shuffled my feet; my eyes began to brim with tears. I didn't know why I was crying, although it probably had something to do with the fact that I never got into trouble. Even if I didn't care, it kind of hurt to have a blemish on the most immaculate school record that was probably sat amongst the Principle's filing cabinet. "I've spoken to your mother, and you're to be grounded for a week." I looked up a little surprised at the lenient punishment. Hesitating slightly, I realised that most normal kids who actually left the house most days would be angry and I pretended to be upset.

"A whole week?"

"Yes, a week. So you better think long and hard about your actions"

"Oh of course Principle. I'll use that time to think long and hard about my actions. I wanted to make a good impression when I came here, which I've failed at. But maybe I can change what you think of me." He sat down in the plush, leather seat across from me and nodded, obviously satisfied with my answer that came as if rehearsed and revised from my mouth much like the answers I gave in my exams.

"Very well, but don't let me see you here again." With a wave of his hand I was dismissed out of his room and into the quiet school office. I grabbed my rucksack off the bench and hurried out of the door counting my blessings. As everyone was at the school activity fair there was only one plump lady seated behind the desk. Not wanting her to see my happiness at being let off lightly I lowered my head and shuffled past her quickly as she tapped away on her keyboard. She didn't stop to look up as I made it out onto the corridor and down the hall way, headed towards the activity fair to catch the last half hour.

 

            As my bag jingled slightly with all the crap I'd thrown inside it like books and keys as I advanced hurriedly down the laminated corridor; my worn out trainers softly padding along I could already hear the excited bubbling of voices coming from the school hall. The plastic smell of linoleum and bleach was replaced by the warmth coming off all the bodies jostling about the hall. The school fair should have been finishing soon; yet it was still as busy and when it had started. Inside, the hall itself was crammed full of tables where the students representing each club sat. The polished, wooden floor reflect the bright colours of all the banners, balloons and leaflets that had sprung up over lunch time by the eager club members. I edged my way into the stream of students and began the gradual shuffle along the flow like a leaf slowly making its way down a gentle stream. As I passed each table I took a quick look at the club and what it had to offer. Several had bowls of sweets, cakes or badges set out that called out to me as I walked along. However, I managed to resist the temptation of sugar and sweets which made my teeth ache. As I passed a table for the art club that was decked out in realism and cubist portraits, their tempting bowl of free gifts being hand painted badges, I was too distracted by all the colours and pictures to notice that I was about to collide with another person who was walking against the flow of students.

"Ouch." My shoulder connected with theirs.

"Sorry." I turned around to see who had bumped into me. My body was paralysed for a split second as it was overcome with the back of a tall girl disappearing quickly out the hall. Although I didn't catch a glimpse of her face, I managed to take in the back of her smooth, dark neck and her glossy, chestnut hair pulled into a loose, messy bun before she was gone. Delicate tendrils of her hair had whispered delicately around the nape of her slender neck. Apart from hitting my shoulder, she managed to effortlessly part the students and glide through with her height and dark clothes; just as she had done the night before. She was the girl I had caught a glimpse of as she flickered through strobe lights in the club. The other students seemed to be a little afraid of her. But before my mind could replay the delicious experience with this mysterious girl, my ears picked up the faint call of 'Krista' called out over the steady buzz of student voices as they chatted and milled about me as I stood still next to the Art Stall blocking the oncoming traffic of bodies.

 

            "Yo! Chrissy." I pretended not to hear the voice at first. I knew who it was; it was the voice of trouble. I had gotten off lightly with my punishment from going out and drinking last night, and I certainly did not want to get into trouble again.

"Hey, Chris!" The voice called out again, but this time I couldn't resist ignoring it anymore, and I was starting to get bumps and disgruntled looks from students who had to dodge me still standing like a lemming in the middle of the hall. And after all it was my fault I hadn't gotten up on time that morning, and I felt bad for ignoring them. Reluctantly I turned around to face the Photography Club table. Of course, placed in the creative clubs section along with the Art Club, this table was also decorated colourfully with the members' own photos. Framed by the arrangement of photos were the faces of Jean, Marco, and the shy girl I had met last night. I squeezed my way through and steadied my body by placing my hands on the table crowded with different books on photography and art. Their colours and titles buzzed into my already distracted mind along with the busy chatter of students. Trying hard to concentrate, I forced out a smile and a hello.

"So, welcome to the club!" Marco beamed at me underneath his freckled face; holding a pin eagerly in his out stretched hand. I looked at him and then at the others,

"F-for me?" I stammered.

"Yes for you, idiot." Jean swiped the badge out of his boyfriend's hand and shuffled round the table to pin it on my bag.

"I'm in your club then?"

"Of course, Krista." The dark haired girl smiled at me and handed me a leaflet on the club. "We're the photography club, if you hadn't noticed yet. And don't worry, I help run it alongside these two dumbasses." She shot a slide glance at the boys who waved it off.

"She's just angry we get extra funding because having gay members makes the club more 'diverse'." Jean nudged me with his elbow.

"Yeah you _wish_ you were that special." Mikasa glared and set herself to making sure all the books on the table were still arranged neatly as she had done so five minutes ago.  

"Well, thanks for inviting me into your club anyhow." I shuffled nervously and looked down at my new pin. "If you don't mind me asking, but what do you guys do exactly?" Jean crossed his arms and looked up.

"Uh well on Tuesdays we do anal, then Wednesday is usually wet and wild night. Oh but nothing beats Sinful bondage Sunday." He winked at me as I began to turn bright red. 

"God could you tone it down for once?" Marco was obviously as embarrassed as I was as his dark cheeks turned beetroot red. His boyfriend pinched his faced playfully and laughed. "Well we apart from the usual hanging out in dark rooms and pretending to be enlightened about the beauty of everything, each week we usually head out somewhere to shoot something or someone." The freckled boy managed to recover quickly; his face returning to it's normal dusky shade. My pale face however, still remained quite pink.

"Oh cool." I twisted the edge of my sleeve. "Would it be okay for a beginner like me though?"

"Yeah duh, kid. And you're coming along on our little excursions anyway whether you like it or not." I smiled and nodded at the punk who had chimed in.

"Looks like I'm stuck with you guys now then."  

 

 _I belong._ Bolting up to my room as soon as I crossed the porch into the house; my body was warm with the pleasant sensation of the life beginning to bubble up inside of me thanks to my new friends. My body was coming alive again. Although it still hurt to wake up everyday and remember the cold hard facts that I, Krista Lenz, had not only lost my father but had also become a complete loser. And it was taking me less time to recover and get out of bed, actually looking forward to the day ahead of me. Grief can be confusing, and you can never really prepare yourself for all the stages that you will go through. Right now I seemed to be slowly coming up from the stage of depression and detachment, as the hospital counsellor had warned us. However, the man in the smart, white hospital coat had not told me that there would be brief interludes of feeling alive along with the constant numbness. Not to mention those moments where you break down completely, reverting to those very first feelings of grief. That feeling of your heart and mind being ripped to shreds, the walls closing in as there is no escape from the fact that they are never coming back. These attacks still gripped me a couple of times a week. I knew my mother still suffered from them too and I heard her crying in our kitchen sometimes after she'd had that third glass of wine when she only intended to have one. I had lost my father, but my mother had lost her best friend, the father to her child and her lover all at the same time. I couldn't imagine the pain that she must be going through. Unlike her dizzying tumble into the sporadic and uncertain life as a young widow, my feelings about my father's death followed the ones in the chart that the counsellor had drawn up weeks before the death in his small office at the hospital. I remembered the brown walls, the scratchy brown carpet and the itchy brown seats. The office and charts were comforting and the dullness of it all reassured me that my father's death wouldn't come just yet. As children we all accept without thinking much about it that we will outlive our parents. So for me it would be easier to accept my father's untimely departure. But to outlive our friends and partners is something we never want to think about. I know from that third glass of wine that my mother still doesn't want to think about it too much. But the memories and thoughts come flooding in; no amount of study, alcohol or drugs can block those out. _Only time can heal,_ repeated the words my uncle had told my mother and I, as I turned over on my bed and looked across the room at my bag, nestled in the corner with its new photography club badge pinned onto it. As my eyes continued to gaze at the pin, my mind played over the two single memories of the mysterious girl that had crossed my path these last few days. Who was she exactly, and why was I so attracted to her?

 

            After all, my sexuality for the last year had been _dead inside,_ and I had come out to my mum by pretty much never leaving my room and wallowing in depression. I'm sure she'd hoped to rekindle my longing for love by placing me in a different pool of people, and judging by my interest in this girl she had been rather successful after all. The dark, graceful yet powerful beauty of my new crush had sparked small embers onto the very dry tinder wood of my heart. And I'd only really seen the back of her. I began to wonder what view of her actual face in proper light would look like. Not just the few glimpses between the strobe light. Still, I wove together what few images I had of her; and even this sketchy picture in my mind still managed to make my heart beat fast.  

 

            Slowly rolling off the bed and onto the floor - a technique I'd picked up on days when leaving the comfort of my duvet seemed overwhelming, and eventually adopted as my usual way of getting out of bed - I crawled over to my bag and began to search its contents for the orientation booklet I'd not yet red as I was late to school. As I pulled out the already dog-eared school manual, a plain tape slid out of my bag and plopped onto the floor. Picking it up I saw the label reading _Bikini Kill_ , and realised it was the tape I'd been given by Jean to listen to the day before. But my room still lacked any tape player, and I made a mental note to go out after school the next day and pick one up. After all, if I wanted to get close to my friends then I had to get to know them. And it seemed that taking an interest in his music taste would be a good way to get to know Jean even more. After all, I had begun to become curious about the boy, as it seemed he had quite a few secrets hiding underneath his blonde Mohawk. I might have been drunk at the party, but the way he had acted made me wonder about his and Marco's relationship. Putting down the tape along with those thoughts, I heard my mother shouting my name up the stairs. Dinner that evening was a disappointing veggie burger with over steamed peas. I looked down at both of the soppy, grey messes on my plate and tried not to pull a face. However, the fresh crusty bread nestled in a basket on the table made up for the rest of my sad meal. Munching down on about half of the loaf of bread and occasionally scooping peas into my mouth before they tumbled onto the floor, my mother asked a barrage of questions about the day. It seemed my little act of -accidental- rebellion had sparked a small amount of panic in her, that made her more animated than she'd been recently. It was nice to be able to talk to her properly for once.

 

            We hung out with each other a lot now, especially when I stopped bothering with friends. Even so, things hadn't quite returned to normal since my father's death as he seemed to linger about every awkward silence that followed _'how was school, honey?_ ', _'oh you know; the usual'_. But with my mother worried about me doing actual, normal teenage things, she had forgotten about my father for just a moment and was busy fussing over me. In fact, we exchanged conversation for the whole meal and it wasn't until we both put down our knife and fork that the usual quietness began to creep in. Not wanting to ruin the moment, I told my mother about a new cooking programme on T.V. and how she should go put her feet up whilst I tidied and brewed the tea. Looking at the clock, my mother relaxed her worn out face into and smile and thanked me before stretching and making her way into the living room. I sat for a moment in the wooden chair at the table and breathed a sigh of relief before finishing up with the tidying. As I brought cups of tea into the living room, the cookery programme just starting, I decided that it was time to test my luck. Even though I had been grounded for a whole week, my mother didn't seem too worried now. And she knew that I was capable of getting good grades and doing well in school. So I decided to try my luck and ask to go to the store tomorrow.

"The store? But honey, remember, you're grounded."

"But mum, I've been good all year. All my life even. One slip up doesn't mean I'm going down the drain."

"I know, but the headmaster of your school gave that punishment not me. I tried my best to whittle it down to that. It's only a week; you'll survive".

"So you want me to just stay in doors. Like I did all of last year and continue to be a recluse?" Tears begun to spring from the corners of my eyes. "You want me stay in my room every day just like I have done since dad died?" Clenching my fists I turned and bounded up the stairs to my bedroom.

"Krista!" My mother called after me, but my anger took no heed. Running to my bed I dived onto the mattress and began to pound my fists into the soft pillow. _Why was I so angry?_ Sure, I was a teenager; but I'd never been subjected to the hormonal rampages my friends had gone on. Usually feelings of guilt had stopped me from acting like that; but now my body was intoxicated by rage. In fact, I cried on my bed for a whole half hour until my pillow was too soaked with tears and snot for me to continue on. Sitting up and rubbing my raw eyes, the increase of oxygen provided after having my face buried in cotton seemed to calm me down just enough to regain my senses. The rage subsided, and I shuffled, starting to become embarrassed with my behaviour, to the bath room. The cool water soothed my red skin as I splashed it onto my face. And as I looked in the mirror, I realised that I probably owed my mother an apology. But my mini tantrum had drained a lot of energy, and instead I traipsed slowly back into my bedroom, flipped over my pillow and let my heavy eyes shut.

 

            Waking up an hour later, I checked the clock beside my bedside table. It was only 10 o'clock, and I noticed that the small led on my phone was flashing. Grabbing it, the white box encasing _'six new messages'_ was illuminated on the screen, however, I still felt too groggy and sad to answer them. Putting the phone back onto my bedside table, I managed to grab my textbooks from my bag I'd received that day and placed them with a heavy thud onto my table. Even though I'd much rather be having fun, or even sleeping; my brain had decided that I was sad because I hadn't studied. After all, it was my go to whenever I felt slightly depressed, and so I stuck my nose in one of my text books for a good few hours that night, and read ahead the material for my class. During this time my phone lit up a few more times, and a pesky series of vibrations from it even attempted to invade my cloud of study and distract me. But I let the phone continue to ring and ignored it; instead focusing all my attention on the section about Cholera in my textbook. Because apparently Cholera is more important than friends.

 

            At one in the morning, I decided to check my phone.

 **12:38am. Jean:** _Hey, answer your phone loser_

 **12:40am. Jean:** _Come on. It's urgent. I'm dying_

 **12:55am. Jean:** _Okay, I'm dying of boredom. But still you shoul..._

 **01:00am. Jean:** _You already ignored me once today. Just pick u..._

My neighbour's barrage of texts warmed my heart a little and lifted my mood, but I hesitated whether or not to reply, and in the end I hit the power button on my phone. Putting it on my bedside table and shutting my curtains, I took a small, hopeful peek outside to see if Jean was lingering around trying to break in. But there was no sign of anyone, and loneliness crept its way back into my heart as I slipped into bed and tried to get some sleep.

 

            It was seven o'clock that morning when the annoying shrill of my alarm clock woke me up; the sunlight penetrating my thin curtains that hung over the massive window. Turning on my phone, I headed to the bathroom and brushed my teeth. Not bothering with my appearance much, as I often did after going into full on recluse mode I simple scraped my unruly hair up into a just as messy top bun and pulled on one of my father's old sweaters. As it was hot, I did however allow myself to wear a pair of denim shorts that were becoming tight around my body. _Ugh, puberty._ I thought as I stared at my butt in the mirror. It seemed to grow bigger every day, even though my body decided to stay at the same height. Still at least being petite, it made it easier to blend in and be a wall flower. Thinking of this, I turned to my bed and reached under my pillow. There I found my journal, and turning to the first page I found the recent bright, orange scribbled I'd done with the words _burn the wall flowers_ written in big letters. Such a fleeting intention. I let the journal slip out of my small hands and left it in a mess by my bed as I grabbed my bag and headed out the door; not bothering with breakfast or my mother after last night's argument.

 

            Even though it was already Thursday, it felt like the week would drag on forever. _Only two more days of school until the weekend, and four more days of being grounded_ , I reminded myself as I dragged up the steps onto the school bus. At the back, Jean was already slumped in an oversized, tatted denim jacket that was covered in pins and patches. He looked up at me and flicked a partly shaven brow up. I noticed today, that despite his blonde Mohawk, his eyebrows had been filled in with pillar box red eye shadow. Not wanting to face reality and all the missed texts and calls from the previous night, I clutched my folders to my chest and darted into a vacant seat right at the front of the bus before it lurched into action. As the engine sputtered and we bumped over pot holes, it seemed that luckily the punk was going to ignore me as long as I ignored him. But escape was not so easy, and I heard my name being called out as I practically ran off the bus, stumbling a little as my feet hit the ground. Jean knew I was a wallflower, however, it seemed he underestimated my ability to cold shoulder and escape friends. Camouflaging myself in a crowd and riding the flow quickly into my first class without bumping into anyone else was too easy, and I felt a little ashamed. In fact, I spent the whole day without incidence and began to wonder if I really should just stay a wallflower after all. But my small peace was destroyed by the fierce frown on Jean's face as he slammed my locker shut. I barely had time to pull my hands away as the last book fell into the locker. He tapped a chunky black boot and glared at me arms folded, awaiting an explanation.

"I'm sorry Jean, I'm grounded." I stared at the ground and pretended to be concerned with my slightly un done lace.

"Grounded doesn't mean anything, _chaton."_ My friend continued to glare at me.

"Trust me, in my household it does." I looked up and shrugged my shoulders as if to say _sorry buddy,_ as I turned away and made my way down the corridor. "So we'll see you in the dark room in five, yeah?" Ignoring his persistence, I scurried down the corridor and out into the fresh air outside. Returning home fresh off the school bus which held every student under the age of 14 (and then me), I found myself sitting back up in my room hunched over a book for the rest of the night.

 

            Friday came and went just as painfully as Thursday had gone with a shrug of the shoulders and opening of a textbook in the evening. At least the good news was that I had read an entire semester's worth of Biology. The bad news? I was still a reclusive loser. By the time Saturday rolled around, I woke up with little excitement for the weekend and a familiar sense of dread. So I turned to the last, smooth pages of my biology textbook and sunk into the welcoming arms of Photosynthesis and the Nitrogen Cycle. That was until the light outside had just begun to fade, along with my peace and quiet.

Arms folded in a tattered, navy, dad sweater I crossed my room to peer at the ruckus I had just heard outside. To my horror, I noticed legs crawling into the bathroom window on the floor below me; skinny, scuffed up, black jeaned legs. As I reached the bathroom I noticed the summer's earthy smell of warm grass and mud being ushered in on a gentle breeze; ruffling my hair slightly. But little time had I to enjoy these pleasant moments the seasons bring, as my eyes met the sight upon the floor. I rushed over and hissed,

"What are you doing here? My mum will have us both killed."

"Well, that'd probably be a more exciting weekend than what you have lined up." The punk ruffled up his short spiky tuft that just the day before had been a glorious Mohawk.

"What happened to you hair?" I gaped at the short spike of hair now nestled on top of the rest of Jean's stubbly head.

"Wow, not even a _cool hair,_ _loulou."_ Wanting to avoid any more ruckus, I grabbed his bony elbow and tried to usher him outside. "Not so fast mon amie; there is more to come." He turned to the window and I stood wide eyed, panicking that there might be more people to come. Instead he begun pulling a thin rope through the window, that eventually ended with a huge clunk as something hit the brick windowsill. Reaching over, I saw that Jean had dragged his cassette player all the way over from his house.

"Y-your tape player..." I stared at the scratched up old machine.

"You can thank me later in the form of replying to my texts for once." The black lip stud moved with his smile as he pulled a toothy grin. "Oh and the hair; Annie spat gum in there after I told the photo club that I had only tried to get you to come with words. Apparently I should have kidnapped you right then and there."

"Oh my god, your poor hair." My hands covered my mouth. "You should have kidnapped me; I wish you'd kidnapped me now" The familiar warmth that I had felt the week before had begun to seep back into my body.

"It's okay. I'm always changing up my style." He rubbed his stomach from the pain of belly flopping in through the window. "Well, come on misery guts. Let's go listen to some _BIKINI KILL_." He yelled the band name in a high pitched, shrill voice and I had to shush him quickly and drag my excited friend up to my room. As my hands searched for the tape in my bedside table draw, Jean plugged in the old piece of junk he called a cassette player and slipped a thin, metal drinking flask out from his tight jeans.

"Little of the ol' vodka" he winked, tapping his painted nails on the cool, metal exterior. The punk took a hearty swig and offered it to me. Hesitantly I took it and quickly gulped down some of the mixture inside; the sound of soft choking filling the silence for a moment, as I gagged on the vodka, my throat burning.

"Oh my god, what the fuck Jean?"

"Extra strong stuff, all the way from Trost's very exotic _and expensive_ liquor shop."

"How did you afford something like that?"

"Uh I have a weekend job sweetheart, I don't just sit around all day doing nothing unlike you seem to think." I raised an eyebrow to this as I'd never seen my neighbour leave his room or house on the weekend, except for at random times during the day. "I'm a part-time liquor thief." He laughed and took another swig, now crossing his long legs on the floor in front of the tape player. Throwing him the tape, he smoothly swiped it into the holder and clicked it shut. Hitting play we waited for a while in silence as the gentle hum of the mechanical player winding the tape filled the room. And then I was hit by the pure, unadulterated noise of women screaming to music. At least, I wasn't quite sure if it was music. But the raspy, sexy vocals of Kathleen Hanna made my whole body move, albeit helped along by the vodka. In total, we were _Pussy_ _Whipped_ twice over by the tape; bringing our vodka and female punk fuelled evening to an end at 10 p.m. But both of us were still burning from the alcohol and music and wanted more. Not wanting to stop we put the tape on for a third time.

 

            However, apparently third time was not a charm as we were abruptly thrown into panic by a knock at the door.

"Krista?" My mother's voice muffled through the heavy oak door.

"Shit, hide!" Jean ran over to my wardrobe and clambered in noisily. I quickly ran to the door and held it a crack open, not dimming the angry music playing loudly on the tape player.

"Honey, what are you doing up here? You've been listening to that tape for almost _two whole hours_ now."

"I'm just trying out some new music my friends recommended me. After all I've got nothing better to do all weekend." My mothered grimaced at this; she wasn't used to me blaming her for things, unlike my past compliant and quiet, teenage self.

"Well, just turn it down won't you dear. It's doing my head in. And I'm going to bed now so I'll see you in the morning for breakfast." She turned away and walked back down the stairs to her bedroom.

 

              "Coast clear, Cap'n." I threw open the closet doors and my friend tumbled out onto the soft carpet.

"I think I hit my knee." He was clutching a scraped knee and pulling a face.

"Aw poor baby. You'll live." I giggled shyly and turned the volume down.

"Well, your mum is a real buzz kill isn't she."

"Yeah, but to be fair I have in no way prepared her for any of this behaviour."

"No teen ever does." Jean bent over awkwardly and licked the blood off the graze with his tongue.

"Ew gross."

"Not as gross as what I had to look at in your wardrobe!"

"What?"

"Your clothes, chaton _._ " Blood began to flush my cheeks as I thought about what could be wrong with my wardrobe. "They're an oversized nightmare."

"And yours is the exact opposite, maybe we should swap clothes for a week." I eyed his tight jeans.

"Okay, you're right. But seriously, what's with all the oversized dad sweaters?" I looked away in case of the familiar prick of tears at the corner of my eyes.

"Well, they were my dad's afterall..." My voice trailed off and I felt a lump begin to form in my throat.

"Oh Krista, I'm sorry." I sat down on the soft carpet next to where he'd fallen out of the wardrobe. "I've hit a nerve, haven't I?"

"What?" I turned to him, but realised that the vodka had broken down the usual stony barrier I kept up, and tears were already flooding out. The punk reached out and pulled me into his chest, his skinny arms pulling around me and stroking my stringy hair.

"Shh, it's okay." He reassured me and rocked me slowly as I bawled my eyes out; his ragged, old band t-shirt wetting with my tears.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to start crying." I wailed as he shushed me again and continued to stroke my hair. After a while had passed, it seemed that all my pent up emotions and tears had been absorbed by Jean's t-shirt. I pulled away from him and tried to rub my eyes dry with my own shirt. "Oh, I got your shirt all wet." I tried to laugh but with the tears and snot it just came out as a sort of blubbery hiccup. The punk laughed and patted my back.

"I'll live. And all that snot will probably make it more punk." He said looking down at his sodden shirt.

"Thanks Jean, I'm so glad you came round tonight. I feel so much happier now."

"You better be." He begun to unplug his tape player and stuffed the metal flask of alcohol back down his pants. "But remember, this goes both ways. I hope we won't miss you at club on Monday." I nodded gently. "Well I better be off, your ma's probably fast asleep by now." Glancing at the alarm clock, the dimly lit red segments read that it was now half past one.

"God I can't believe I blubbered on your chest for so long. Next time just give me a slap."

"Well, I can't have any more shirts ruined." He winked at me and opened the door. "Goodnight, _mon cherie_." I herded him quietly out the back door now that my mother was asleep, and returned up to my now, quiet room.  Sighing, I kicked off my socks and jeans; hopping under the soft duvet in just my underwear and shirt. As I had done a few days ago, my tired and worn out eyes easily shut within minutes and I was fast asleep within the hour.


End file.
